


A Familiar Grace

by artenon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bodyswap, Other, Sharing a Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 23:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19386238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artenon/pseuds/artenon
Summary: “Hold on, hold on.” Crowley leaned forward, certain he’d heard right but unable to comprehend it. “Just what are you trying? You’re an angel, not a demon.”“Yes, but we’re from the same stock, aren’t we? You can do it, I don’t see why I shouldn’t be able to.”“Well, Icando it, but I’ve never actually possessed a body, I don’t know how it works,” Crowley said over the thudding in his chest. Millennia of denying any similarity between the two of them, and now here Aziraphale was, trying to do something unheard of for angels.“It can’t be that different from having a regular corporation. Pity I can't inhabit yours,” Aziraphale said with an awkward half-laugh.Now that was an idea.Crowley straightened up. “Why not?”





	A Familiar Grace

**Author's Note:**

> y'all i. really loved the tv adaptation. this entire show feels so wonderfully self-indulgent so naturally i had to go and make it even more self-indulgent with bodysharingggg
> 
> many thanks to [sarah and cai](https://heart-hotel.carrd.co/) for beta'ing!!
> 
> note: a few lines of dialogue have been lifted directly or slightly modified from the show

Aziraphale had survived.

His bookshop had burned, but he had survived, and so had the one book he’d needed. It was so perfect, so miraculously convenient, if Crowley didn’t know the Great Plan he’d say this was part of it.

Even before he’d pulled up to a bookshop in flames, Crowley had known something was wrong. Aziraphale was constant. Ever since they’d both settled in London—and that had been a very long time ago now—Crowley had always been able to sense his presence within the city.

And now it was gone.

Not gone like Aziraphale had popped out of the country on orders for a quick blessing, or to track down a first edition he didn’t own yet, but vanished. Like someone had taken a great big map and punched a hole through it where Aziraphale should be.

And if Aziraphale was gone, then Crowley could burn with the rest of the damned world, for all he cared.

That was exactly what he’d been planning on doing here at this pub. He’d already worked his way through one bottle of a liquor he hadn’t bothered remembering the name of, and was ready to go to town on his second when Aziraphale appeared.

He wasn’t really here—he was all shimmery and see-through—but Crowley could see him, hear him. He wasn’t dead. And Crowley had saved the very book he needed.

“It’s all in there,” Aziraphale said now. “The boy’s name, address. Everything else. I worked it all out.”

Crowley unfolded the map tucked inside the book, fingers unsteady. He should probably sober up, but some part of his addled mind was convinced this was a hallucination and that if he became lucid, Aziraphale would go away.

He should be angry, too; he knew Aziraphale had been lying when he said he didn’t know anything. Crowley had been waiting for him to come around and tell the truth on his own, only when he finally called, it’d been too late. But if this wasn’t a drunken hallucination and Aziraphale really was here, then he couldn’t muster up any feeling other than relief.

It was easy to sense an angel’s grace, and Crowley knew Aziraphale’s particularly well, so he should know, right, if this specter in front of him was real. Except he didn’t actually know what was happening, where Aziraphale was or how he was appearing before him. There was something warm and familiar lapping at the edges of his consciousness, but he couldn’t tell if it was real or just a figment of his hopeful imagination.

Another reason he should sober up.

Another reason he was scared to.

“Look, wherever you are, I’ll come to you.” If he was there, if he could touch him, then it had to be real. “Where are you?”

“Er, I’m not really anywhere yet.” Aziraphale’s eyes flicked from side to side and Crowley wondered what he was seeing, and how he’d found him in the first place. Aziraphale hadn’t even known whether Crowley was still on Earth. “I’ve been discorporated.”

“Oh.” He’d known that, logically, and it was better than being dead, but still. He couldn’t stop picturing Aziraphale’s body being eaten by the flames of his burning bookshop.

Then again, Aziraphale hadn’t known about the fire, which meant that probably wasn’t how he’d gone.

Whatever had happened, Aziraphale didn’t seem half as troubled by it as Crowley, because he moved right along and said, “You need to get to Tadfield Air Base.”

Crowley found Tadfield on the map. Sure enough, the air base was circled in pencil. “Why?”

“World ending,” Aziraphale said. Crowley whipped his head up. “That’s where it’s all going to happen. Quite soon now.”

And why the Heaven would Crowley want to go there? No, they should both be running very fast in the opposite direction. Could Aziraphale run? Where was he now, trapped between Heaven and Earth without a body?

“I’ll head there too. I just need to find a receptive body,” Aziraphale muttered. “Harder than you’d think.”

“Hold on, hold on.” Crowley leaned forward, certain he’d heard right but unable to comprehend it. “Just what are you trying? You’re an angel, not a demon.”

“Yes, but we’re from the same stock, aren’t we? You can do it, I don’t see why I shouldn’t be able to.”

“Well, I _can_ do it, but I’ve never actually possessed a body, I don’t know how it works,” Crowley said over the thudding in his chest. Millennia of denying any similarity between the two of them, and now here Aziraphale was, trying to do something unheard of for angels.

“It can’t be that different from having a regular corporation. Pity I can't inhabit yours,” Aziraphale said with an awkward half-laugh.

Now that was an idea.

Crowley straightened up. “Why not?”

“Er—I don’t know, actually. But I would suppose that an angel and a demon in the same body would be… explosive.”

“You just said we’re from the same stock,” Crowley said, suddenly desperate that he not let Aziraphale go so soon after getting him back. “Try.”

“But my dear, it’ll do no good if we end up both discorporated. At least one of us has to make it to Tadfield.”

“Well, I’m not going without you, so…” He gestured vaguely to himself and stuck his hand across the table. “Come on.”

Aziraphale’s mouth tightened into an exasperated frown, the way it usually did when he thought Crowley was being unreasonable. Crowley was too washed away by the beautiful familiarity of it to be bothered.

“Fine,” Aziraphale said. “But only because we’re quite short on time.”

Aziraphale reached out to meet him. Crowley didn’t feel anything at first when their hands brushed, but then there was something of a warm shock, like he’d plunged his hand in hot water, and Aziraphale’s discorporated image shimmered and disappeared.

And then he was there, metaphysically brushing up against Crowley with all his grace, so big and brilliant that Crowley wondered how it was ever crammed into a human-shaped suit. It… burned, in a way Aziraphale’s presence never had before, and Crowley feared for a moment that Aziraphale had been right and that they would blow his body to bits. But then Crowley felt something in him shift as if to make room, and Aziraphale’s grace flared once and then settled.

“Oh my,” Aziraphale’s voice came from Crowley’s mouth, moving without him telling it to. “I believe it worked.” He paused. “Crowley, you are quite drunk.”

“Right, yeah, sorry about that. Stuff, you know.”

Crowley tensed and expelled the alcohol from his body. As always, the experience left him with a funny taste in his mouth and a slight pounding in his head in exchange for a clear mind. And his first lucid thought was that he was never, ever going to admit out loud that he’d drunkenly sobbed to strangers about how he’d lost the love of his life who didn’t—or couldn’t—love him back. It all seemed stupid now that he had Aziraphale again; he didn’t need anything more than just this.

He took stock of himself. It was weird and cramped inside his body, but Crowley couldn’t say if that was any different from possessing a human. He rolled his shoulders and curled his fingers, expecting resistance but finding none, and he inhaled slowly. He had Aziraphale with him, quite literally, the closest he ever would. So long as he could keep control of the body they were currently sharing, what was to stop him from running off now and saving them both?

What was so great about the Earth anyway? Sure, it had its entertainments, and he couldn’t get any wine up in space, but those were fleeting. The main thing that had made Earth fun all these years had always been Aziraphale. Crowley liked Earth, he liked humanity, their fast lives and bright ideas, and it would be a shame to see it all gone, but there were more important things, in the end.

They could leave. Right now.

Except…

“Right,” Aziraphale said. “To Tadfield, then?”

Except Crowley loved Aziraphale and Aziraphale loved Earth. And Crowley knew this. He’d known it for millennia. Aziraphale loved Earth and all its people, loved Earth and its cleverness and quirks and food and books and ducks, and so Crowley was going to save it or die trying.

“To Tadfield.”

 

* * *

 

Crowley would admit to a lot of his demonic designs, and proudly too, but he was not about to admit that the M25, which was currently a giant, impassable ring of fire, had been his creation.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, tremulously pumping the gas pedal and inching the Bentley along down the side of the road, “we have to get past it somehow.”

Crowley lifted his foot off the pedal. How Aziraphale had gone so long without driving a car even once, he didn’t know. “That’s hellfire, not even a miracle will get us through it.”

Aziraphale pressed back down. “Oh, but if we both—”

Crowley slammed his foot on the brakes and resisted Aziraphale’s attempts to retake control. “Did you hear me, angel? I said hellfire. It might discorporate me, but it’ll destroy you. We’re not getting through.”

He leaned forward against the steering wheel and squinted ahead. A not-insignificant part of him wanted to suggest giving up and running away, but he knew he couldn’t—their decision had been made. He leaned back and was about to wonder aloud if Agnes had something for them when a hand reached over and plucked the sunglasses from Crowley’s face.

He didn’t flinch when he saw Hastur, though he grimaced as Hastur twisted the glasses in his hands, the lenses splintering in his fist.

Really, that was his second pair today.

“You’ll never escape London.” Hastur wasn’t looking at him, but rather staring into the flames ahead. That was fine with Crowley. He didn’t want Hastur looking at him. “Nothing can.”

“Hastur,” Crowley said, mentally begging Aziraphale not to say anything. Who knew what Hastur would do to them both if he knew Crowley had Aziraphale along for the ride. “You’re sitting on my book.”

“There’s nowhere to run, Crowley,” Hastur said, probably not listening to a word Crowley was saying. “Hell will not forget. Hell will not forgive.”

Right, so it was either die trying to avert the Apocalypse or die to whatever gruesome punishment Beelzebub and the others were cooking up for him. So far, neither option seemed appealing.

“Oh, he’s not running away anymore,” Aziraphale said, “and he’s certainly not afraid of you.”

Crowley jerked back. “For the love of—someone— _angel_!”

He eyed Hastur, not knowing what he would do, sure it wouldn’t be anything good. But Hastur yelped and pressed his back to the door, eyes wide and wild.

“Aziraphale is with you? But that’s—that’s impossible! He can’t—you can’t—!”

And then Crowley realized, none of the other demons actually knew Aziraphale. They didn’t know he was soft and fretful and not at all like the other angels hanging around Upstairs with their cold disregard and tendency towards smiting. Aziraphale’s radiance wasn’t meant to be a comfort to a demon.

It was meant to be feared.

“We can,” Aziraphale said. “We have. And you’re in the way.” He snapped his fingers.

Hastur burst into a spray of light with a shrill sound that might have been a shriek or celestial ringing—hard to tell, really.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said after a breath, “did you just smite Hastur into oblivion?”

Be still, his demonic heart.

“Yes. Well, no. No!” Aziraphale said, suddenly flustered and fidgeting with his fingers, as if he hadn’t just faced down one of the Dukes of Hell without so much as a flinch. “Not into oblivion. I just discorporated him.”

“Ah. Pity.”

“I hope it wasn’t too painful for him,” Aziraphale muttered.

“Not painful enough, I’m sure,” Crowley said. Tired of trading off control of his body to converse, he turned the rearview mirror down so he could see his reflection. Not like he was using it anyway.

He quirked an eyebrow, and Aziraphale took the place of his reflection and gave an awkward little wave.

“So much better,” Crowley said. He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Right, Hastur was just one obstacle. We still need to figure out how to get to Tadfield.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” he said, like he was imparting a great wisdom and not repeating some trite saying.

“Again, _hellfire_ —”

“I really do think if you just—”

“No, I am not risking you like that!” Crowley snapped. “I already lost you once!”

Silence.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. And then, “Do you… mean to say _I’m_ your best friend?”

Crowley’s jaw hung slack for a good several moments before he could move it again.

“Who the bloody hell else would it be?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know!” Aziraphale turned away, then flicked his eyes back to Crowley, looking sheepish. “I don’t know what you get up to.”

Crowley groaned. “You are absolutely ridiculous. I hope you know that.”

“Yes, thank you,” Aziraphale said testily. “Now, are we getting on or not?”

“Not,” Crowley said.

“If we don’t stop Armageddon, you’ll lose me anyway. Crowley,” Aziraphale said, and his voice went unbearably soft around his name, like it was a precious, fragile thing. Crowley had never heard Aziraphale sound like that, and it made his chest ache. “You are capable of quite extraordinary things. I know, because I’ve seen you do them. You just need to have faith.”

Crowley felt, distantly, that he should laugh. Faith? He was a demon; he Fell because he didn’t have faith, and he wasn’t about to start having some now. Anyway, they were going against God’s Great Plan here; faith wasn’t going to do them any good.

At least, not faith in the Almighty.

Faith in Aziraphale, though—Crowley had that. He had that in spades. It’d flourished over the years, the more he got to know Aziraphale, the deeper he fell in love with him, but he’d always had it, from the day they’d met. From the moment he’d learned that Aziraphale had given his flaming sword away to the first humans, worried they’d be cold.

Crowley had always regretted Falling. Not that he’d liked Heaven and their lot, but Hell wasn’t much better, and he’d always wondered, bitterly, if he was still an angel, would Aziraphale have been able to love him back? But he couldn’t do it, couldn’t worship the Almighty and Her ineffable plans and Her _silence_.

Maybe it was worth being Fallen, then, if it meant he could worship Aziraphale. Worship this grace that did not burn, but soothed.

“Right,” Crowley said. “Sit tight, and I’d better not see so much as a feather peeking out.”

He pushed the gas pedal to the floor and threw the Bentley into the wall of fire.

The heat hit like a battering ram. His car creaked and groaned, and Crowley clutched hard at the steering wheel as though holding it tighter would hold the whole thing together. He willed very hard that it _would_ hold it together.

Flames licked their way into the car and seared his skin. It bore into him, trying to push its way underneath, and Crowley growled, “You are my body, you are not going to burn, and you’re not even going to _think_ about letting anything touch my angel.”

The Bentley flew forward and Crowley screamed. He could handle a little hellfire, but this was just ridiculous. He couldn’t breathe, and then he remembered that he didn’t have to breathe, and so he just focused on imagining that his car was fine and that he was fine and that inside the body they were sharing his metaphysical demonic essence was wrapped tight around Aziraphale’s grace and shielding him from the desecrated flames. Even through the all-encompassing heat he could still pick out Aziraphale’s warmth in their shared body and he anchored himself on that.

This was stupid. Living for millennia as he had, Crowley had done a lot of stupid things, but this one probably made the top. It was so damn hot. He couldn’t even see the way ahead. But Aziraphale’s grace pulsed like a heartbeat, warm and soft and trusting, and Crowley kept his eyes wide open and believed.

 

* * *

 

It took a while for it to sink in that they’d actually made it to Tadfield Air Base intact. Getting through that much hellfire without getting discorporated _and_ keeping his car in one piece was already an extraordinary miracle; carrying an angel safely through it was… some word that wasn’t _ineffable_ , because Crowley had teased Aziraphale for too long about it to resort to using it himself.

Crowley exited the Bentley in a daze, watched it combust spectacularly in a daze, and made his way into the heart of the Air Base to where the end of the world was happening in a daze.

It wasn’t until he was standing there in front of the Antichrist that Crowley realized that killing the Antichrist meant killing an eleven-year-old boy. That definitely didn’t help the queasiness he was still feeling from the exertion of getting him and Aziraphale here. But still, the Antichrist was the Antichrist, AKA the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, et cetera. His existence meant the end of the world, and Crowley had a vested interest in not letting the world end.

“Right, right,” he mumbled. “Kill him, save the world. Not so hard. We can do this.”

“For Heaven’s sake,” Aziraphale said, wresting control—not that Crowley was holding on to it very hard—and patting his pockets. “Didn’t you bring a weapon?”

“Wha—a wea—no, I’m a demon, do I look like I need a weapon?”

“Well, what were you expecting to do then?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be the one _doing_.”

“Excuse me,” the Antichrist said. Crowley—or Aziraphale, hard to tell just then—whipped his head toward him. “Why are you two people?”

He sounded an awful lot more polite than Crowley had expected the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, et cetera to sound. Crowley kept his guard up.

“Ah, long story,” Aziraphale said, conversational, as if this child couldn’t erase their existence with a thought. “You see, I was in my bookshop—”

“It’s not right.” The Antichrist spoke with such certainty that Crowley knew he was about to do something, bend reality to his will. Before he could decide if that was something he should be running away from, the Antichrist continued, “You should go back to being two separate people again.”

There was a tug, and the world seemed to shift beneath Crowley’s feet. The next thing he knew, Aziraphale was standing beside him as if he’d never been discorporated.

Crowley’s knees gave out.

Aziraphale caught his arm. “Crowley!”

“Shit, sorry.” Crowley steadied himself and pulled away. “I’m fine.”

It was shocking how quickly he’d grown accustomed to carrying Aziraphale’s grace; already he missed having it close. Crowley wouldn’t normally call himself the touchy-feely type, but right now he really wanted nothing more than to grab hold of Aziraphale and feel the grace thrumming through his corporation.

But he couldn’t yet; Armageddon was still just beginning.

 

* * *

 

In the end, Aziraphale and Crowley had little to do with actually averting the Apocalypse.

Well, Crowley thought his time-stopping bit was a rather important contribution, but he was too tired to really argue it.

It was enough to sit on the bus next to Aziraphale, pretending the seats were just too small that they had to press their shoulders together. There were a couple other passengers on board with them, but Crowley couldn’t even muster a tired sigh before Aziraphale tilted his head towards him and murmured, “I’ve got it, dear.”

Crowley nodded and sank deeper into his seat. It was easy enough to pass unseen and unheard, but he was grateful not to have to expend even that little bit of extra effort. The weariness of the day had settled into his bones.

He closed his eyes. “What now?”

There were no armrests on these seats. Aziraphale’s hand was resting very close to Crowley’s own.

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“I imagine I haven’t seen the last of my… superiors,” Crowley said.

“Nor I mine,” Aziraphale said.

Something brushed against Crowley’s finger. It was Aziraphale’s pinky, hooking around his own. Just an inch of contact, but it tugged at something deep in Crowley’s chest, and he hardly dared to breathe, fearing that the slightest movement might send Aziraphale scuttling away.

“And I can’t imagine the punishment will be pleasant,” Aziraphale continued, as if he hadn’t just changed the world with one gesture.

“Yeah?” Fine, if Aziraphale was playing it cool, Crowley could play it cool. Crowley defined cool. He was cool incarnate. “What’s punishment like Upstairs? I can’t say Hell is particularly creative with their torture.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know.” Aziraphale’s hand sat still but casual, not stiff like how Crowley has holding his, desperately trying not to twitch. “But for the crime of consorting with a demon, I would wager execution by hellfire. They would bask in the poetic justice of it, I’m sure.”

Fire again. He could still see the bookshop burning, the soot and smoke, Aziraphale _gone_.

He took a deep breath and focused on the pinky curled around his.

“Hellfire, where would they even get any?”

“I believe our respective head offices must have a line of communication with each other. I mean, you saw Gabriel and Beezelbub today. Angels and demons were on the precipice of war, yet those two were perfectly civil with one another. It’s just business for them.”

“Well, if your people are going to go to my people for hellfire, I know what they’ll ask for in return,” Crowley said glumly. “Holy water.”

Aziraphale’s arm, pressed up against Crowley’s, went tense.

“I used it,” Crowley said. “The water you gave me. Killed Ligur.”

Aziraphale didn’t respond, and his inhale was shaky. He unhooked his pinky, and something in Crowley almost plummeted but Aziraphale caught it when he settled his hand into Crowley’s, tangled their fingers together and squeezed.

It was an almost unbearable comfort, and Crowley never wanted to let go. He swallowed. No matter his act in front of Hastur, no matter how much he’d always disliked Ligur, watching him melt under holy water would be difficult for any fellow demon to stomach.

“Too bad we can’t use the same trick we did getting through the M25,” Crowley said.

“Oh!” Aziraphale said. “Maybe we can.”

Crowley turned. Pressed up together as they were, turning made their faces entirely too close, but Aziraphale’s eyes were gleaming and his mouth was curled just a bit mischievously, and Crowley couldn’t help being curious.

“Hastur knows we can share a body,” Crowley said. “They’ll figure us out.”

“What if we didn’t share?” Aziraphale said. “What if we swapped?”

“Swapped?”

“Our bodies. Our faces, just as Agnes Nutter said. I’ll play at being you and you’ll play at being me.”

It… could work. It was a very tempting idea. Well, obviously saving their hides was an attractive prospect, but imagining the looks on the angels’ faces when ‘Aziraphale’ withstood hellfire was pretty enticing too.

Still.

“One false move, one wrong word, and they’ll call our bluff.”

“Well then, we’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen, won’t we?” Aziraphale’s smile turned daring; he seemed almost excited.

Now, as a general rule, Aziraphale didn’t like dangerous. But he so did love fun. Crowley fondly recalled the times Aziraphale had specifically offered to cover a minor temptation for him because “it sounded fun, and mostly harmless, besides.” Crowley never called him out on it, content with the knowledge that Aziraphale wouldn’t have agreed to The Arrangement if he didn’t secretly delight in being a bit of a bastard sometimes. Just as Crowley secretly revelled in the opportunity to occasionally do some good.

So, Aziraphale indulged in danger sometimes. That wasn’t new. But this was a significant step above the usual, and Crowley didn’t like the idea of Aziraphale going down to Hell on his own. But he had to admit that the plan was a good one.

Aziraphale gave Crowley’s hand a little squeeze.

Crowley sighed. “Fine. Let’s do it.” He disentangled their fingers and held his hand out to Aziraphale as if offering a handshake.

“What, now?” Aziraphale said.

“Yes, now. How long d’you think Heaven and Hell are going to wait?”

“I suppose you’re right.”

Aziraphale wiggled his shoulders, like he was collecting himself. He patted his palms against his lap twice, then shifted in his seat so his body was angled towards Crowley.

Crowley tried and failed to quell a smile. “Ready?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “Quite.”

He took Crowley’s hand.

Swapping corporations didn’t feel nearly as dramatic as sharing one. It was by far one of the easier things they had to do in the past eleven years.

“How do I look?” Crowley said, at the same time Aziraphale frowned and said, “Oh dear.”

“What?” Crowley said.

Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s hand and made an aborted gesture. “Your eyes.”

“Ah.” Crowley glanced at his reflection in the darkened window, saw himself wearing Aziraphale’s face but with telltale yellow snake eyes. “Yeah, I could never shake those. Bugger.”

He looked back to Aziraphale. He could just see through the sunglasses the slitted eyes Aziraphale apparently had no trouble copying over. That was good, and not just because they needed it for their ruse. Crowley didn’t know how he would react to seeing regular eyes, _Aziraphale’s_ eyes on his body.

He wondered what it must feel like for Aziraphale to see such blatantly demonic eyes on his own.

“Well, that’s no good,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley suppressed a flinch.

Aziraphale pressed his fingers to the sides of Crowley’s temple. Crowley froze, breath caught in his throat, and Aziraphale dropped his hands a moment later.

“There, nothing a quick miracle can’t fix,” he said.

“Wait—” Crowley looked back at his reflection.

Normal eyes. Human eyes.

“I can only manage it temporarily of course, but it should hold long enough to pull off our ruse,” Aziraphale said.

“Oh.” There was a twisty feeling in his gut that he couldn’t decide was relief or disappointment. “Temporary. Right.”

Aziraphale sighed. “A shame you wear glasses all the time, your eyes really are quite lovely.”

Crowley stared at him. “What?”

“I said it’s a shame you wear those sunglasses all the time, because your eyes really are quite lovely.”

“Yeah, I heard what you said.”

Aziraphale furrowed his brows. “Well, then why did you say _what_?” he said, sounding more annoyed than confused.

And what was Crowley supposed to say to that? _You think my eyes are lovely?_ Ha. No.

Except.

“You think my eyes are lovely?”

Oh, seeing Aziraphale blush while wearing Crowley’s face was just embarrassing, but he couldn’t turn away.

And, it seemed, neither could Aziraphale. Despite the red coloring his cheeks, he looked steadily at Crowley and said, “Well… yes.”

This was the part where Crowley should shut up and accept what Aziraphale was offering, because he’d waited so very long for it to be offered. Which of course meant that Crowley, being Crowley, fought back and said, “They don’t… I mean, you don’t find them repulsive, or, or remind you that you’re _fraternizing_ with a demon?”

He hated the venom that accompanied that word, _fraternizing_. He didn’t want to be bitter, he wanted to be patient, understanding. He knew Aziraphale had a lot to lose, being with Crowley. But it’d hurt.

He’d just wanted a friend.

“I am sorry I said that,” Aziraphale said, sounding rather tetchy now. “That was a very long time ago. And I know you’re a demon, I don’t need reminding of the fact.” He blinked. “Crowley, do you find your eyes repulsive?”

Crowley turned away. “No, they’re my eyes, why would I find them repulsive.”

Aziraphale’s hand landed back in his. “Crowley, I do adore every part of you. I’m sorry I never expressed it properly before.”

Crowley grunted. It was easier than words. He wanted both to pull his hand away and to hold on tighter, and he didn’t know which to do, so he just left it there, slack in Aziraphale’s grasp.

“I was scared,” Aziraphale said. “But do you know, I’m not scared anymore.”

Fuck. _Fuck_ , and now Crowley wished he had his glasses because his eyes were stinging.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, soft, “that you had to wait for so long.”

“Ehh,” he managed to squeak out, mostly because he wouldn’t be able to take it if Aziraphale kept going on like that. He forced half a shrug. “Not that long, really.”

What was a few millennia? Except Aziraphale was giving him a look like he knew exactly how long Crowley had been carrying his torch.

“Something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Crowley said, and bit his lip. “When you were all discorporated, how did you find me?”

Aziraphale tilted his head. “I’m not sure, really. I didn’t have a sense of where I was at all, but I could sense _you_. Well, I didn’t know it was you right away, it was all very disorienting. But I just knew if I followed, it would lead me… home.”

Even wearing Crowley’s face, the way Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he smiled as the answer occurred to him was so very _him_ , and Crowley’s mouth quirked up in response.

Aziraphale leaned a little closer. There was hardly any space between them now. “You offered me your place tonight. Well, when this is all over, really over, when the eyes of Heaven and Hell have finally turned away from us, when we’re free to be ourselves,” he said, and he paused and took a deep breath, “I would be delighted to stay with you.”

It was strange to kiss the face that Crowley had worn and favored for most of his existence, but then again, size and shape were just options for beings like them. He closed his eyes as Aziraphale pressed closer with unexpected—but certainly welcome—enthusiasm. So maybe this wasn’t at all how Crowley ever imagined this would happen, but it wasn’t the form Aziraphale took that mattered but the familiar grace that rose up and spilled from his lips and filled Crowley up.

And maybe it should have burned. Burned like holy water, or even like passion. But to Crowley, Aziraphale’s grace had always just been warm like home.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!
> 
> / [twitter](https://twitter.com/qorktree)


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